


Bruce texts instead of talking, and Dick learns to deal with his home situation

by narfiffiftic (maladictive)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Texting, mentions of wounds and hurt, ok lots of my fics lately end with people cuddling on a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/pseuds/narfiffiftic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Hurt shot Dick, and now he has to deal with the aftermath:</p><p>  <em>Make sure you check the stitches before you go to sleep,</em></p><p>  <strong>I saw you for ten minutes today, you realize what nearly happened?</strong></p><p>  <em>Just do as I say,</em></p><p>  <strong>B, they’re on the back of my head, you come check on them.</strong></p><p>  <em>Use a mirror, Dick. Be careful,</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruce texts instead of talking, and Dick learns to deal with his home situation

_Make sure you check the stitches before you go to sleep._

I saw you for ten minutes today, you realize what nearly happened?

_Just do as I say._

B, they’re on the back of my head, you come check on them.

_Use a mirror, Dick. Be careful._

_-_

It had become a routine, a tradition steeped in a guilty conscience, for Bruce to send him texts like this.

It was a stark contrast to the man that would sit by his bedside and read him books on bad nights, it was as though watching Dick grow up had flicked a switch off in Bruce. 

Dick didn’t get that treatment anymore, and it wasn’t often that anyone else did either, not after Jason.

The texts were nearly always blunt commands, but he never deleted them, no matter how they made him angry. Sometimes he took snapshots of them and kept them, to remind himself that Bruce did care. That even if he didn’t come to see him, Bruce thought of him. Dick needed some warmth after spending hours knocked out on a cold cot in a cold cave.  The messages from Bruce didn’t give him that, and they left him wanting.

The only warm things that night were Tim’s shaking hands on his wrists, and Alfred’s dry palms on his forehead. Even Damian had deigned to sit by his side after the operation, complaining a bit about Bruce, and grumbling about Dick holding his hand.

If Damian had told him to stop, to let go of him, Dick would have. Immediately. But Damian let him hang on, and when the pain stabbed in his head suddenly and he couldn’t help but wince, Damian tightened his grip.

Everyone was perfect, except Bruce. This wasn’t how Dick wanted their reunion to go. Maybe it was unreasonable, but Dick had wanted a dramatic hug, praise, maybe some wetness in Bruce’s eyes.

_“Is that Damian in a Robin costume?”_

Dick had been so relieved, at the time, just for Bruce to be with them again, so he hadn’t really minded. But afterwards, when he was being treated and fretted over by the others, and Bruce was in the labs, it just wasn’t the same.

They had held him, touched him, spoken to him, and then there was Bruce, texting him from the other side of the manor. Dick was caught between disobeying Alfred to hunt him down and  _hit_ him, and the desire to keep the phone by his bedside, so that he could read each obnoxious text as it came. 

Dick knew that this wasn’t healthy; he knew he took too much satisfaction in the knowledge that his demise would have shattered Bruce.

But he had been disgustingly happy to see Tim’s tears (Tim was  _talking to him_ , and yes, Dick had to be shot in the back of the head for the final wall in Tim’s defenses to fall, but Tim was by his side again) and to see Damian worry (fume) and yell over him.

He ignored the next message out of spite, tossed his phone aside, and instead took comfort in the familiarity of his old bedroom to dull the guilt. He didn’t need Bruce’s texts.

_Good night._

_-B_

For as long as Dick Grayson was Dick Grayson, he would never be able to  _really_  ignore the texts. 

"Damn you, Bruce."

He heard a low chuckle from outside his door, and footsteps moving on down the hall.

That was good enough for the moment, and Dick let himself rest without bitterness in his thoughts, and he fell asleep remembering that Bruce cared.

But Dick had always known that.

 -

He woke up to a weight on his shoulder, an arm on his chest, and nice-smelling hair tickling his nose.

“ _Tim!”_

“Dick shut up, your breath is horrible.”

“TIM!”

“Urgh, do you want me to leave?” Tim’s voice wasn’t slurred with sleep, so Dick guessed that he had only just got here.

“No.”

“Then shush.” Dick hums, and falls silent.

Tim fidgeted beside him, “I wouldn’t have left.”

"I know."

The silence that followed was comfortable, if a bit weighty, and Tim held back laughter as Dick sucked his teeth and tried to decide how terrible his breath was. Dick was on painkillers, and he was ready to cry, just from waking up and seeing Tim on his bed, like things had never changed.

Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe all they needed was  _time._  They had time now, they had lots of time. 

A knock at the door interrupted his mushy, love-filled thoughts. Damn himself.

“Come in.” Dick was still self-conscious about his breath, but Tim had made no move to say anything, so his loss.

Damian opened the door, purposefully, but then paused and hesitated when he saw Tim sprawled over Dick’s everything.

“Join us?”

The time that fell between his question and Tim finally saying something was painful, and it weighed on him.

“I’m  _not_  moving over for you, Damian.” Tim sounded squished, and Dick realized he was pressing himself into the mattress, so that he couldn’t be budged. 

“ _I’ll_ move over for him.”

“No you won’t, actually.”

“Shush, Tim.”

There was a long-suffering groan, it was so  _familiar,_ and Tim rolled over three inches to the other side. Dick scooched over a bit, and patted the space beside him.

Damian was still hesitating.

“Damian, just get over here, don’t be a grump.” Dick nearly choked, because  _Tim was being cute with Damian._

Damian made a scoffing noise, and came to sit lightly on the bed beside Dick. There was no missing the pink on his cheeks, or the way he stiffly avoided making skin-to-skin contact.

Dick moved over more, and Damian took the hint. He lay down beside him, and reluctantly moved his hand to rest on Dick’s chest, the only point of contact between them.

Dick would do anything to make Damian happy, and if Damian was happy not touching him too much, then that was fine. It hurt, but it was fine. It was how Cass had been, when she first came to them, and it had never made Dick doubt that she cared. Some of his family just needed a bit of space, and sometimes it was only at first.

He began to doze off, and turned to face Tim and hold him, in order to give Damian the space he wanted. 

As he drifted off though, and as his breathing evened out, he felt a pressure on the back of his neck, and Damian was  _kissing him._  Dick decided that actually he was going to be  _entirely_  fine. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Link](http://maladictive.tumblr.com/post/65909790277/bruce-texts-instead-of-talking-and-dick-learns-to-deal) I'm sorry I'm spamming you guys with lots of updates but I JUST TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT AO3 sob  
>  this is a more cheerful fic than I had intended to write, which I'm fine with


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